Show Me
by Got Tea
Summary: In which a sleepy Boyd finds himself with a problem of his own making, much to Grace's amusement.


**A little fluffy silliness, which I very much needed after a very rough few weeks. Thanks to Joodiff for the quick beta, and to both Joodiff and missDuncan for always keeping my spirits up - I don't know what I'd do without the two of you. Olympic-sized hugs to you both! :) xx**

* * *

 **Show Me**

 **…**

Deeply comfortable and perfectly settled beneath the quilt, Boyd yawns slightly and ignores a tiny itch on his thigh – he's simply too warm and relaxed to care about such a minor irritation. Beside him Grace is inert and near-silent, her breathing a slow, almost whispery rhythm that's doing a lot to lull him further towards the darkness of sleep.

It's been a great day, he thinks, his recollection drowsy and sluggish, but filled with warmth and a sense of peace that has been growing slowly and bit by bit in the last few weeks. A drive out to the coast, a long, slow walk on the beach in the uncharacteristically chilly early May weather, lunch in a charming seaside café, and a steady meander home to cook together and share a quiet, easy evening.

He stretches, long legs reaching out towards the bottom of the mattress and stirring the blankets as he moves. From his left there is a tiny twitch of movement, and then something small and light lands on his toes as if from nowhere, making him jolt in surprise and yank his foot back again.

"Freyja!" he scolds, startled. "Settle down."

She doesn't. Their incorrigible feline companion pounces again, this time on his knee, before scrambling up the length of his torso in a rush of paws and claws as she tries to engage him in play, tapping him on the cheek with an insistent foot before ramming her forehead into his nose as she lets out a series of squeaks.

"No," he tells her, reaching up to defend his face and encourage her to make her way back down the bed. "Go to sleep."

There is a tiny snort of amusement from his right, one Boyd roundly ignores, stubbornly focusing on calming the cat and avoiding what he suspects will likely be an inevitable 'I told you so' coming his way very shortly.

Freyja does not seem to want to cooperate. No matter what he does, she keeps pouncing, keeps swatting, keeps dancing out of his way as he attempts to deflect her. When she tramples over his head, a foot stepping into his ear, he growls at her and sits up, plucking her off his pillow and depositing her at the end of the mattress down by his feet. "Stay there," he rumbles at her, waiting in a scowling stalemate until she finally sits down before lying back again and jerking the covers roughly back over his body. If another slight snigger meets his ears as does so he ignores it, burrowing his head back into the pillow.

The peace and stillness lasts about ten seconds, and then he feels Freyja stretch and stand up again. Holding his breath he ignores her, clenches his teeth as she picks her way lightly up between his body and Grace's.

Whiskers tickle his cheek, a cold nose brushing against his own but he holds his position, refusing to give in until a loud, demanding and very unexpected meow right next to his ear makes him flinch in surprise.

"Grace…" he pleads.

"You insisted on letting her in," she mumbles, not moving an inch under the covers. "You can let her out again."

"Can't you do it?"

Despite the sleepiness in her tone, there is finality too. "No."

Freyja walks across the pillow between them, her tail swishing him in the face. He feels her scrabbling at the edge of the duvet, trying to dig her way underneath it.

"Oh no," he tells her, twisting quickly to grab her and prevent her from disappearing. "No chance, madam. You're far too much of a fidget."

Grace is still curled in exactly the same place, ignoring the chaos as the cat wriggles and meows indignantly at Boyd's manhandling of her as he turns her upside down in his arms and holds her against his chest. "You'll have to take her down to the kitchen, you know," she says serenely.

It's not an appealing prospect. "But it's cold," he protests.

Grace yawns and then offers the barest hint of a shrug. "She'll only sit at the door crying all night if you don't."

Irritatingly, she's most definitely right. Freyja is just as strong-willed as they are.

Stubborn, he gazes down at the ball of silky fur looking up at him. He's resorted to tickling the soft, leopard spotted tummy to keep her still, and Freyja is now purring, the sound deep and soothing in the stillness of the bedroom.

"Please?" he tries, knowing it's fruitless, and not intending in the slightest for her to actually get out of bed. It's been a good day and he's enjoyed so much seeing her with rosy cheeks and improved energy levels. A truly good day in what has been a steadily increasing number of good days. Slowly, but steadily, she is making progress; looking healthier, feeling better.

It's doing a lot for him; emotionally, mentally, physically.

The fight in her is becoming sparkier and so much more visible, and the day has been filled with banter and cheerful bickering, which he just can't quite bring himself to let end, despite the deep, honest tiredness caused by the hours of fresh, sea air.

"'Oh, go on, Grace,'" she parrots, in a remarkably good impression of his tone from earlier. "'Just this once – we've been out most of the day and left her all on her own…'"

He laughs, loud and long and filled with thrilled amusement and appreciation for her sense of humour and determination. "God, you're good at that," he grins, poking her thigh with his toe.

Undaunted, she continues. "I warned you, didn't I! I said she'd have spent the whole day sleeping and she'd be full of beans the moment the light went out, but no. 'Oh, go on! You know she gets lonely when we're out for hours – she's such a sociable little thing.'"

"Are you finished?" he asks, still smirking.

"No. This is your own fault. _You_ can sort it out!"

"Good lord, woman. If you weren't so tired I would pin you to the bed and have my wicked way with you until you were begging and writhing and screaming my name."

One eye opens, considering him enquiringly. Her tone has changed, become more thoughtful as she asks, "Feistiness does it for you, eh?"

"You know damn well it does," he replies, well aware his own tone has changed, dropping lower in response to the faint spark of hope that now seems to be floating between them.

A small foot connects with his shin. Not hard, but determined. "Go and put her in the kitchen," Grace orders, a glint of something very intriguing in her eye. "And make sure you shut the door behind you so she stays there."

He doesn't need any more incentive, instead swings his legs out of bed and stands, wincing at the cold air of the room as it hits his bare skin.

"Come on, trouble," he orders, keeping a tight hold on the protesting, wriggling cat in his arms. Vocal as always, Freyja howls her objection.

"You didn't play with her when we got home," Grace points out, stretching languidly as she turns to watch him.

She's right, he thinks, distracted by the way the quilt has slipped lower, revealing a hint of what lies beneath. Grace sees, of course she does, and she smirks at him, shifting again, very slightly. He doesn't miss the way she encourages the covers to move as she does.

Tease.

"I was tired when we got home," he replies, stuffing his feet into his slippers.

He's offered a limpid smile. "Tired, eh? That's a shame…"

He shrugs, playing the game effortlessly. "It was a peaceful evening – I've recovered somewhat by now."

"Good to know," replies Grace, solemnly, her eyes twinkling wickedly.

Freyja meows again, interrupting the moment as she tries to break out of his grip, intent on getting back to the bed.

"No," Boyd tells her, hurrying to get out the door. It's even colder downstairs, and he winces, moving quickly down the stairs to the open kitchen door. "Here," he says to his disgruntled pet, putting her down in the cardboard box sitting atop the boiler that she adopted as her bed within hours of arriving in the household. She chirrups at him as he scratches her between the ears, and seems to settle down. "Good night," he tells her, turning to leave. "Sleep well."

The tiny scratch of the cardboard on the work surface gives him a hint of notice, and as the streak of silvery fur flies past him he lunges, reaching the doorway just as Freyja hits the floor and bounds forwards. The door slams shut and the cat skids to a stop; hands on his hips he gazes down at her. "Nice try!"

She stands up on her back legs, planting her front paws on his thigh and purring. A tried and tested trick that melts his toughed heart every time. "What are you like, hmm?" he sighs, well aware of his own folly.

It's time for a bit of bribery. Scooping her up again, he deposits her back in her box and reaches for the treats, tucking a few into the corner and then making a hasty exit while Freyja is occupied.

Thoughts of soft skin beneath his hands and the gentle laughter and sighs of his lover fill his mind as he makes his way up the stairs again, wondering if Grace really is feeling well enough for some mischief between the sheets.

To his disappointment she's not in bed when returns. In fact, she's not even in the room. She reappears quickly though, wrapped in a light, clingy robe that leaves little to the imagination, and carrying a couple of candles that normally live in the bathroom.

"I though a little atmosphere was in order," she explains, setting them down and producing matches seemingly from nowhere to create flickering orange flames that cast the room into an achingly intimate glow as she turns off the bedside lamp.

"You are brilliant," he murmurs, caught by the sudden ambience, by the way each and every curve of her body is highlighted in the wavering glow of the candles. "God, I want you so much."

The words are out before he can think about them, and for a moment it feels as though they've ruined the moment, but Grace only laughs and turns to face him, eyes darkened and inviting as she wordlessly tells him exactly what it is she wants from him. It has a profound effect on him and his very male physiology.

"Come here," she whispers, the sound throaty and erotic. Coupled with the way her hands are slowly, deliberately loosening the tie at her waist, he can't help do anything but.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he asks, stepping closer still, until his palms can rest on her waist, and she can twine her own arms around his neck, leaning into him.

She smiles, her eyelashes catching the light as she gazes provocatively up at him. "A fair bit, I suppose."

He shakes his head, backs her up towards the bed, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her dressing gown to tease the skin he finds there. "A lot," he corrects her, punctuating his words with a series of progressively longer and more heated kisses.

"Care to show me?" she gasps, as his lips find her shoulder, the robe slipping down her arms.

"Grace," he grins, lowering her to the bed and settling beside her, "it'd be my pleasure."


End file.
